The Guest House
by Lola Little
Summary: Harry needed an escape from the world. Dean needed a way back in. They both found something more than what they bargained for.
1. Chapter 1

Note: First and foremost, I will be updating Say You Love Me soon. This story is merely a request fic that I have been playing around with for a week or two. It will more than likely run about 3-4 parts. Secondly, I have drawn on my real life dealings with MS for this story, but I must stress that MS is different for everyone. Some people with MS are still up and walking 20 years after their diagnosis and some, like me, aren't so lucky. Don't take this as a set in stone template. Also keep in mind that I am not a doctor.

The Guest House

Prologue

"What absolute rubbish," Neville ground out as he tossed a copy of the latest issue of _The Daily Prophet_ across the table.

Harry sighed and shrugged. A few stiff drinks had relaxed Harry enough that he was no longer snarling like a wild beast because of the headline. Over the past five years, he had grown almost used to the constant headlines and gossip columns bearing his name. That didn't mean he enjoyed it, but it didn't bother him as it once had...or at least, it hadn't until now. With his divorce in the final stages of completion, his very well publicized split from Ginny was becoming evermore the standard front page fare for reporters who did a startling lack of reporting on anything that truly mattered—somehow Shaklebolt's latest trip to America had been pushed back to page three. The words "Potter's Mistress Speaks Out" in bold script across the top of the page were sure to sell more papers than anything the ministry had done in quite some time.

"How she managed to make a one-off seem like a bloody decade-long romance, I will never know," Harry muttered bitterly as he took another drink.

Neville refilled their glasses. "I wish I could tell you that people won't believe it."

"They will," Harry agreed flatly. "Ron and Hermione certainly do."

"You have to admit that they are in a bit of a hard place during all of this, Harry," Neville told him. "I would imagine it would be hard for Ron knowing that his best friend had an affair while married to his sister."

"It wasn't an affair!" Harry cried.

"Call it what you like, but you did cheat on Ginny. I know you wish you could take it back, but what's done is done," the blonde man said sympathetically.

Harry looked away and took a drink. "Want to hear something strange?"

"What?"

"Part of me doesn't want to take it back." Harry hadn't allowed the words to pass his lips until that moment, but then it felt like a damn had broken inside of him and he couldn't stop. "I'm sorry I hurt her, I really am, but I didn't want to continue on the way we were. For the longest time, I thought I could just be happy pretending everything was as good as she seemed to think it was. I thought that all couples had their bland times. Then it just started stretching on forever. I honestly can't tell you the last time I was genuinely excited to be around Ginny. School, maybe. What kind of marriage is that?"

Neville frowned. "Christ, Harry. Did you ever talk about it?"

"A bit. How do you tell someone who is truly in love with you that you don't know if you want to be with her? It just never came out. I know it's a shite way to end things, but I was almost relieved when she kicked me out. Maybe I deserve everyone thinking I am the biggest fucking wanker in Britain . Maybe I am." Harry drained the glass and held it out to Neville.

Neville rolled his eyes as he poured Harry another. "I'm sure sitting here and getting arseholed with me is the best way to resolve all of this," he said with an uncharacteristic amount of sarcasm. "You are a bit of a wanker for it, I will give you that, but get your head out of your ass. You need to move on. Ginny needs to move on. Fuck, all of Britain's witches need to move on!"

"To what?" Harry asked. "With all of this mess looming over me, I can barely even make it into the Ministry offices without having to fend off Rita Skeeter and her ilk. Any semblance of normal life has kind of gone round the shitter."

"Take a bloody vacation then."

At the time, Harry had completely dismissed the suggestion—laughed it away actually—but four days later the thought of a vacation was beginning to become a bit of an obsession. He was half mad from spending all of his time and energy running away from the reporters who stalked him day and night. His work had even suffered for it. It was nearly impossible for him to go out into the field and when he was in the office he was unfocused. In fact, things had become so bad that Minister Shaklebolt had taken the time to personally ask Harry to take time off until the whole thing had blown over. This time, however, Harry was not even remotely inclined to ignore the idea. He wanted nothing more than to get away from all of the insanity.

Now the question at hand was where to go. Aside from ministry business and his time on the road with Ron and Hermione, Harry had never traveled. The Dursleys weren't about to take him anywhere he might have enjoyed if they could avoid it, and he had been too preoccupied as an adult to take a proper holiday to any place more exotic than Dover. Also, there was no way he was going to be able to make any sort of arrangements within the wizarding world without finding himself hunted down. He contacted a Muggle travel agency which had sent him a bundle of brochures with palm trees and blue waters on the front of them, but none of them really appealed to him all that much. In the end, Harry resigned himself to just picking one out of the pile and going with it.

He had been about to call the travel agent and make his reservations when Neville dropped by that afternoon. Harry heard the distinctive sounds of someone arriving in his fireplace. Until that very moment, Harry had completely forgotten that he had planned to have lunch with Neville. Doing his best to appear as though he were merely getting ready to leave, Harry shoved the brochure in a desk

drawer before greeting his friend.

Neville eyed him skeptically as he entered the room. "You forgot, didn't you?" the professor asked.

"No, I just lost track of the time," Harry lied.

"You sound like one of my students who didn't do his homework," Neville chided. "Not that it's any big loss. I doubt we would make it very far with all of your followers swarming us anyway."

"Probably not," Harry agreed. "My kitchen is well stocked though. I could make us a bit of something."

Over a plate of sandwiches, Harry talked about the pros and cons of each location—mostly the cons. Harry wasn't exactly enthusiastic about any of them. From the sand to the humidity, nothing was right. Neville was much more patient than Ron or Hermione would have been, he managed to sit through nearly an hour of Harry's ramblings before deciding he'd had enough.

"What about somewhere a little less exotic?" Neville asked irritably.

"I hear Antarctica is particularly nice this time of year," Harry rejoined dryly.

"I was actually talking about America."

Harry stared for a moment as though he'd never heard of the place before. "As in the United States?"

Neville nodded. "Dean Thomas has a house in Maine near the shore. He rents out his guest house on occasion. Luna and I stayed there once. Very nice place."

"I don't know," Harry said thoughtfully. "I never really thought about America as much of a holiday really, but I guess the it sounds better than sitting on a beach pretending to enjoy myself. Do you know it is open at the moment?"

"Not sure. Owl him. If it isn't you can always sip mai tais in Tahiti."

Dean was not a morning person. Were it not for a certain four-legged companion sitting beside his bed thumping his tail expectantly, he would have happily stayed abed until noon. Rolling to his side, Dean sat up and stretched out his sore muscles. Leonidas laid his massive head on Dean's thigh and looked up at him with anxious brown eyes. "Yes, yes, I know," Dean murmured. "I'm not moving quickly enough for you, but it's the best I can do." He reached for the forearm crutch lying beside the bed and hauled himself up to his feet shakily and threw on a robe.

After opening the door and letting the German Shepherd run free in his fenced in yard, Dean made himself a cup of strong coffee. He settled himself on his front porch with the steaming cup in his hand and watched Leo frolicking. Suddenly the dog began to bark and growl at something up above. Dean had to shield his eyes to spot a bird flying low toward him. The owl wisely chose to let the letter fall and avoid confronting Leo's bared teeth. "Now that wasn't very friendly," Dean told the dog as he picked up the abandoned envelope.

Without a spared second, he tore into the unmarked enveloped and scanned over the contents:

_Dear Dean,_

_ How have you been? Luna and I were disappointed that you could not attend Astrid's birthday party, but we do understand. I do hope that things turned out well for you. However, things have not turned out very well at all for Harry Potter. I don't doubt that you have heard some of the rumors concerning Harry's divorce from Ginny. With all of the chaos surrounding him, Harry has decided to get away for a while, and I thought of your rental. Is it possible that you would be able to accommodate Harry for a week or two?_

_ Neville_

Dean sighed. The guest house was open, but he wasn't so sure he wanted Harry Potter staying in it. Neville and Seamus aside, Dean had all but turned his back on the magical world. Though he didn't regret his Hogwarts years one bit, time had moved on. His life had changed so drastically that he had no idea what it would be like to see Harry again.

Still, Dean knew exactly what it was like to need to escape for a while. With that in mind, Dean grabbed a pen and a bit of paper.

Part 1

Harry hadn't been expecting gray skies and rain when he arrived in Maine. Truth be told, he hadn't known what to expect. Arriving by portkey in the late afternoon, Harry surveyed his surroundings. A dense patch of trees shielded the drive from the any sort of roads. From where he was standing, he could see a large house with dark wood siding and a porch that wrapped around the whole house. A rustic looking wooden fence gave the place a homey feel to it that made it look warm even through the chill of the rain. Though Harry couldn't see the guest house from where he was, he assumed that it was tucked in behind. Well, Harry thought, this does look like the kind of place to be left alone.

Just as Harry stepped onto the porch, a dog began to bark from inside the house, and Harry paused. Being mauled wasn't on his agenda for his vacation. Before he could continue, Dean emerged from the house holding the leash to a large black and tan beast. "Don't be fooled by the barking; he's harmless, I assure you. Pet him once and he will shut up," Dean told him over the dog's noisy greeting.

Harry held out his hand reluctantly expecting to draw back a stump. Instead, the animal licked his hand and then rolled over and offered his stomach to Harry. "Some guard dog you are," Harry said as he let out a breath of relief.

"It's good to see you, Harry," Dean said. "You look just the same."

For the first time Harry's attention landed on Dean. He had been prepared to say the same, but then he realized that Dean really had changed. He was thinner than Harry remembered. His hair was cut close, and he now sported a goatee, but that wasn't what caught his eye. Dean was leaning heavily on a crutch. Willing his gaze elsewhere, he looked into Dean's dark eyes. "Good to see you too, " he replied.

"Come in. I'll show you the place." Dean headed off through the living room. Harry trailed behind Dean and tried not stare at his host's spastic gait as they walked. "Normally, I'd take you around the main house, but I don't really fancy a walk in the rain today."

The pair emerged underneath a covered walk way that connected to the guest house. The guest house was nearly a miniature of the large structured and even had its own porch with a swing on it. Even without going inside, Harry knew straight off, he would like this place. Harry's instinct was confirmed mere moments later when Dean opened the door to reveal an interior that was masculine without being cold. The living room and kitchen were open and when combined with the high ceilings gave the place and openness that appealed to Harry. Dark cherry furniture and beige and wine upholstery (an almost Gryffindor like touch) only added to the house's charm.

"Do you like it?" Dean asked.

Harry nodded. "Very much."

"The bedroom is through the french doors over there and the bathroom is just off to the left. The place is set up with all of the usual Muggle devices, but I did connect the fire place to the floo network for any magical guests," Dean explained. "I put a few necessities in the fridge and cupboards—coffee, milk, eggs, and the like, but you'll want to go town for groceries. I made some chili and you're welcome to come over for dinner if you'd rather not go out in the rain this evening."

"Thank you. That's more than I'd expected really," Harry said gratefully.

"Well then, I will leave you to get settled. Come over whenever you're ready to eat," Dean told him before he started for the door. For a brief moment, Harry noticed a look of pain cross Dean's face as he moved.

When Harry was left alone, he pulled his shrunken belongings from his pocket and brought them back up to size. He hadn't packed too terribly much; just his clothes, some books, and a bit of paperwork he just couldn't leave behind at work. Taking his time to familiarize himself as he unpacked, Harry began to feel a bit more at ease with his surroundings. For the first time in quite a while, Harry was hopeful that he might actually enjoy himself. The mere silence around him as he put away his socks was enough to bring a smile to his face. How long had it been since he had been able to relax? Too long.

Harry flopped down haphazardly on the bed after the last of his belongings were put away. The feel of a warm mattress beneath him made him keenly aware of the hour. Though the clock on the wall told him that it was only seven, Harry's internal clock told him it was much later. He supposed he should have taken the time difference into more consideration, but as of late, he hadn't been sleeping well. He had assumed that his insomnia would make him at least a bit less vulnerable to the change, but his entire body felt tired and his eye lids were heavy. If not for Dean's offered meal, Harry could have easily fallen asleep, but instead he pushed himself up.

The rain had slowed to a light mist since he'd arrived. Harry breathed in the heavy scent of pine that nearly covered the tinge of salt from the ocean and leaned on the railing of the porch. The air was cool and helped him wake up a bit more before he started toward Dean's. He knocked gently only to be greeted by the dog who was wagging his tail happily but Dean was nowhere in sight. Harry waited a moment before deciding to slide in uninvited.

"Hello?" Harry called out softly.

"Be there a minute," Dean called back from another room. "Make yourself at home."

Harry closed the door behind him and began to look around. He hadn't really noticed much when they had passed through earlier. His attention had been too focused on the changes in Dean to see much else. Like the guest house, the main home was filled with the same dark cherry finished furniture, but the fabrics in the room were darker blues and greens. A large flat screen television hung on the wall opposite an open stone fireplace. Though the place was devoid of the knickknacks that usually signaled a woman's touch, the house was far from bland.

Photographs lined the walls, most of what appeared to be family and friends, but one face was prominent among them. Harry found himself staring at the face of a handsome stranger. The man in the picture (a Muggle photograph) was blonde with blue eyes and a healthy tan. He reminded Harry of Dean's home—warm, inviting, open, and perhaps a bit rugged. Whoever he was he meant quite a lot to Dean. Finally, Harry's eyes landed on a picture of them together confirming the suspicion that had been building. The pair were seated on a the beach with a plaid blanket wrapped around them. Dean looked so very happy wrapped in his lover's arms. For a brief moment, Harry felt a pang of jealousy. He had always wished to be loved like that, but some things just weren't meant to be.

"Sorry about that," Dean said from behind him. "I was just cleaning up my paints when you came in."

Harry was slightly embarrassed to have been caught snooping about Dean's photos but he straighten up and put on a smile. "Don't worry about it."

"Are you hungry?" Dean asked.

"Very," Harry confirmed.

Dean led Harry into a large kitchen. "I put a warming charm on it, and it should have thickened up nicely. Nothing better than hot chili on a rainy day, but I did keep it fairly mild in case you don't share my love of spicy food."

"Haven't really eaten too much of it," Harry told him apologetically. "Ginny didn't exactly get very adventurous in the kitchen."

A sad look came to Dean's eyes. "I was sorry to hear about that, by the way. For what it's worth, Harry, I was really hoping you two would be happy together."

"Yeah, so was I. Things happen though, I suppose." Harry shrugged. "What about you? You and your partner look happy."

Dean smiled sadly. "We were very happy. Ethan died in a car accident a little over two years ago."

Instantly, Harry's heart sank in his chest, and he silently cursed himself for being so bloody stupid. "I...I'm so sorry. I didn't know."

"It's all right. We had more in our six years together than some people do in decades and decades together. He left me with a heart full of memories and a beautiful home to remember him by. I still miss him, but I know that I was just blessed to have him." Dean looked away for a moment. "No use getting all sentimental. Would you like a drink?"

"I'd love one."

"Name your poison. I have wine, beer, and a fairly well stocked liquor cabinet," Dean told him.

Still feeling a tad off kilter, Harry couldn't decide. "Whatever you're having is fine."

Dean handed Harry a bottle of beer. "Dos Equis it is then."

Harry took a tentative sip of the brew and smiled. "That's really good."

"Glad you like it. Now on to the food." Dean levitated a heavy pot onto the table and ladled out a large bowl of the steaming chili.

"Thank you," Harry said as he accepted the bowl. His stomach growled greedily as he took in the spicy scent of it. Despite his host's assurances that he had kept it mild, Harry found that his mouth was soon ablaze as he took his first bite. He had to hold back a wracking cough as he quickly reached for his beer. Beads of sweat were already appearing on his forehead. "Wow," he managed to get out.

Dean laughed heartily. "Don't tell me the Boy Who Lived is afraid of a wee bit of heat in his food."

"It seems that way," Harry admitted sheepishly. "It's good though."

"I can make you a sandwich, if you want," Dean offered still largely amused.

Harry's pride wouldn't let him concede. "Of course not, the chili is fine.

The two men settled into a companionable silence as they ate. To Harry's relief, he soon became accustomed enough to the spice to finish his bowl and ask for another. As he ate, Harry began to wonder why he hadn't become better friends with Dean at Hogwarts. The boys had never really had any major quarrels, but they had never been close. They had always moved in separate circles. Still, Harry was amazingly comfortable just sitting there with Dean saying nothing at all. After they had finished, Dean sent away the dishes with a flick of his wand and offered Harry another beer.

"Thanks for letting me stay here. Neville told me that you normally don't let out the guest house until summer, and I do appreciate the extra work," Harry said as they moved to Dean's couch.

"It's really not that much work. I'm actually happy to see you, Harry."

Harry frowned. "You sound as though that's a surprise."

"It's been a long time since I've been around any of the other Gryffindors in quite some time. I kind of turned my back on the wizarding world more or less after I was diagnosed. I guess it was just easier," he admitted.

"What diagnosis?" Harry asked.

"Neville didn't tell you? I assumed when you didn't ask that Nevill had told you," Dean murmured.

"No," Harry replied shaking his head. "I just didn't want to be rude."

Dean sighed. "I have MS—multiple sclerosis."

Harry had heard of multiple sclerosis before, but he didn't exactly remember what the term meant. He was just about to ask about it when Dean continued. "Basically it's a disease that attacks my nervous system causing a whole laundry list of unpleasant symptoms. No two cases are exactly the same. Mine has been progressing pretty steadily, but so far it's been mostly limited to my muscle control in my legs and my balance."

"I'm sorry to hear that. So what do the healers say?"

Dean shrugged. "Not much. There haven't been many cases in wizards. I'm one of maybe a bare handful in history so there hasn't been much research. There is a Muggle-born healer in New York who's been working with me. I can honestly say things could be much worse."

Where the silence had once been comfortable between them, now there was a sort of quiet tension. Harry wasn't quite sure what to say. He hadn't really dealt with anything like this before. The only person he could think of that he had ever really known with any sort of disability was Moody, and he had barely known the auror. Harry shifted uncomfortably as if the physical move would make it easier for him to think of something to say. Luckily, he had a furry savior.

Without warning, the dog who had been lying quietly in the corner for the majority of the night decided to crawl into Harry's lap like some little pug. Harry spilled his beer and let out a loud groan as an oversized paw found its way on top of Harry's crotch. He tried his best to push the beast away with little success. The damned animal had to weigh at least forty kilograms! During all of his struggling, Dean was sitting there laughing as though this was a normal occurrence.

"Leo, down!" Dean commanded after his laughter had subsided. "He really must like you. He doesn't do that often."

"I just have a way with animals, I guess," Harry quipped. "And you named your dog 'Leo'? Like a lion?"

Dean rolled his eyes. "I didn't name him. Ethan did. His real name is Leonidas—like the Spartan king. Ethan loved the movie they made about it so much he named Leo after it." As if he was trying to decipher what was being said about him, Leo cocked his head to the side and let out a little grunt. Dean scratched the dog's ears. "He doesn't live up to the the name really. He's quite the coward. Have you ever had a dog before?"

"No, my relatives would never allow something like that. I've never been much for dogs," Harry said thinking back to Marge's bulldog.

"I wasn't either, but he won me over. He kept me company after Ethan died. I'm not quite sure what I would have done without him." Dean bit his lip. "Not to be nosy, but how are things with Ron and Hermione through all of this?"

Harry swallowed. "We had a huge fight over it, Ron and I. Not sure how things will go with that really. Hermione has written me a couple of times, but Ginny is her sister-in-law and a dear friend. I guess I shouldn't be too surprised by any of this. What I did was pretty unforgivable. I deserve it."

"No one deserves to be alone," Dean told him.

"I should go. I'm getting really tired," Harry lied.

Dean nodded. "Good night."

"Good night," Harry returned as he headed for the door.


	2. Chapter 2

Part II

The morning after Harry had arrived, Dean found his eyes kept wandering over the guest house as he sipped his coffee on the back porch. He assumed that Harry was awake, but wasn't about to go knocking on the door. After how quickly Harry had left the night before, Dean honestly couldn't guess how much he'd see of his guest. He shouldn't have asked about Ron and Hermione. It wasn't his place, and Dean had realized as much almost instantly. Still, he couldn't help but be tempted to go see if Harry wanted breakfast. It had felt good to have a meal with someone again—not a group, just one person. Willing himself to leave Harry be, Dean pulled a tennis ball from his pocket.

Leo struck a regal pose as noticed the ball. His ears were perfectly straight, and he didn't move a muscle. Dean let the ball fly and watched as the dog raced after it. The game of fetch lasted for only a few moments before Leo lost all interest in the game. Instantly, Dean knew that a car must be coming down the drive. Visitors were the only thing more fun for Leo than a tennis ball. Leo ran around to the front and began barking excitedly.

Dean made his way around the porch just as his sister-in-law, Evie, was unbuckling her daughter, Bella, from her car seat. He smiled and leaned against the railing. "Don't you own a phone?" he teased.

Evie grinned widely. "But then I wouldn't get to surprise you."

"Dee!" Bella squealed happily from her mother's arms.

"There's my girl!" He sat down in one of the wooden chairs on the porch and held out his arms for her. Bella had become to heavy for him to manage while he stood, but the child didn't seem to mind as she thrust herself into his chest. Dean brushed aside a fall of golden curls from the four year old's face. "You look like a little princess today."

Bella giggled and held out a DVD case. "I brought Ariel!"

"She's been watching _The Little Mermaid_ over and over for the last week," Evie explained. "But at least it's not Nemo. I don't think I could take that one much more."

Dean laughed. "I didn't mind that one."

"Neither did I, the first thousand times." Evie pulled herself up and sat on the railing. "Mom wants to know why you haven't been to Sunday breakfast in a while."

"I've just had a lot to do lately," Dean lied, looking away.

Sunday breakfast was a weekly family tradition that Ethan's parents hosted. The Kerwins were a tight-knit bunch, and they made no mistaking that Dean was still one of them. While it was comforting at times to spend a morning completely surrounded by Ethan's loving family, at other times it was downright torturous. Ethan's brother's laugh or his mother's eyes would remind Dean too much of Ethan, and he couldn't take it. It was like the hole in his chest reopened and he couldn't think or breathe at those moments. He knew that he could never explain how much it hurt to be around them to any of the family, but he also knew that lying wouldn't work forever

Evie nodded. He wasn't sure she believed his excuse, but she didn't question it either. "We miss you."

"I miss you too," Dean told her as he did his best not to meet her gaze.

"Who that?" Bella asked pointing to Harry who had appeared silently on the porch.

"Good morning, Harry," Dean said trying to push aside the emotions building in his chest. "I'd like you to meet Evie Kerwin, my sister-in-law, and her daughter, Bella. This is Harry. We went to school together, and Harry is staying the guest house."

Evie smiled and offered her hand. "Ah another Hogwarts graduate. Good to meet you."

"You too," Harry said as he took her hand. He eyed her carefully as he obviously wasn't sure how much she knew—if anything about magic.

"Our youngest sister went to Salem," she explained. "So what brings you across the pond?"

Harry shifted uneasily. "Just a bit of relaxation."

"I brought Ariel!" Bella chimed in holding up the DVD case. "Do you like Ariel?"

"I've never seen it," he answered shyly.

"Can we watch Ariel, Uncle Dee?"

Dean chuckled. "Ask your mother."

Evie shook her head. "Sorry, Bitty Belle. You can watch Ariel in the car. We need to go see Daddy at work."

Bella stuck out her bottom lip and began to rev up for a good cry. "Momma! I wanna watch Ariel!"

"You can watch Ariel in car, honey." Evie reached for the little one who was still crying. "Anyway, nice to meet you, Harry. Dean, call me later on."

Once Harry and Dean were left alone, Dean hauled himself up out of the chair. "How did you sleep?" he asked.

Harry shrugged. "All right. I don't usually sleep too much."

"Can I get you a coffee?"

Harry followed Dean into the kitchen and remained silent as Dean ground the beans. Dean studied his guest from the corner of his eye. Harry really hadn't changed all that much from school. Not only had he aged very little, but he still had that air of discomfort and detachment that had shrouded him at Hogwarts. While Harry had always had Ron and Hermione around him, he had never really seemed part of anything. It was like the weight that he carried created a barrier between Harry and the rest of the world. Dean had always assumed that once the dark lord was vanquished that Harry would relax, but if anything it seemed like he had more on his shoulders. A divorce could do that to you, Dean supposed.

"How far is it to town?" Harry asked softly.

"About ten miles," Dean replied as he handed Harry a steaming cup. "I can drive you in if you like. I need to do a little grocery shopping myself."

"Thanks." Harry took a sip of coffee.

"About last night," Dean began, "I didn't mean to pry. I didn't mean to be rude."

"You weren't. I'm sorry I left like that. I guess I am just trying to get my head together after all of this," Harry said.

After they finished their coffee, Dean and Harry climbed into Dean's black civic. Dean noticed the subtle look that Harry gave to the hand controls located near the steering wheel, but neither commented on it. There had been enough show and tell for the past day. The drive into town was near silent except for the sound of the rain hitting the windshield that had started to come down mere moments after they left the drive.

Bailston was a quaint ocean town. It wasn't exactly a tourist destination, but in the summer there was a modest earning to be made from the antiques hunters and second honeymooners that passed through. Mostly the residents here had settled into a way of life that hadn't changed much over the years. There were still many fishermen who scraped by on their lobster boats, but every year it seemed like more of the youthful Bailston natives moved on to make a living elsewhere. Despite the worn edges, Dean had come to love Bailston. The people were warm if a bit weathered, and there was an almost tangible sense of determination that emanated within the town.

"Did you eat breakfast?" Dean asked as they turned down Main Street.

"No," Harry answered. "Is there some place decent to grab a bite?"

"Yeah. Better than decent actually," Dean told him with a smile. He parked the car in front of a dilapidated looking building with slightly flaking white paint. A wooden sign with "Frannie's Cafe" painted on it in red hung above the steps.

Harry wasn't really hungry, but he decided that it wasn't a bad idea to sit down with Dean again. He couldn't say why, but it really mattered to him that he fix whatever uneasiness there was between them. As he followed Dean into the cafe, he began to wonder if perhaps he'd made a mistake. The inside of the cafe was nearly as rundown as the outside. The red vinyl stools in front of the counter were taped over in places and the decor was quite dated. Harry took a seat across from Dean in a booth.

"Do you come here often?" Harry asked.

Before Dean could answer a waitress with cheaply dyed red hair and bright pink lipstick appeared as quickly as if she had apparated to their table. "The usual, Dean?" she prompted through her gum chewing. At Dean's nod, she turned to Harry. "How about you, sweet cheeks?"

"Er...I don't know yet. I haven't looked at the menu," Harry said, trying to avoid the appraising stare she was giving him.

"Leave him alone, Flo," Dean told her with a chuckle.

The waitress—Flo blew a giant bubble and shook her head. "I shoulda known you British boys just can't handle tough questions this early."

"Flo here is a local celebrity," Dean said to Harry in mock secrecy. "She can cook pancakes, wait tables, chew gum, and irritate the customers all at the same time."

"I'm just a regular old superhero," Flo snorted. "Want me to read the menu to your friend here while I'm at it? Not like I got much else to do."

Harry laughed. "In that case, I won't take up your time, Flo. I'll just have what he's having."

"Comin' right up, twiggy." She cast him one last glance before disappearing behind the counter.

"Don't mind her," Dean said once she was gone. "She isn't the friendliest old girl, but the food here is the best around."

"I'll find out soon enough." He paused. "Not that I can change my mind now, but what did I just order?"

"The five alarm breakfast burrito with extra jalapenos and salsa," Dean replied lightly.

Harry tried to hide his grimace. His stomach was still recovering from the chili the night before. "Sounds great," he muttered.

"I know how much you love hot food," Dean said with a mischievous twinkle in his dark eyes. "Actually, I usually get two scrambled eggs, bacon, potatoes, and blueberry french toast."

Breakfast turned out to be a meal that could easily have filled the tables in Hogwarts' great hall. Harry wasn't quite sure how anyone could eat all of it—let alone someone as thin as Dean was. He watched as Dean began to tuck into the heaping plates with gusto and decided to do the same. The service might be less than pleasant, but the food was as good as it was plentiful. Without even realizing it, Harry found he had devoured nearly half the plate in front of him. He slowed his pace a bit and began to pay a bit of attention to his surroundings.

Dean, he soon noticed, was well liked in Bailston. As locals filtered in and out of the diner, they all stopped and said hello. Dean greeted one and all with a warm smile and a brief chat. Most of them seemed curious about Harry, but only a few came up for introductions. Harry was beginning to understand why Dean liked the area so much. The people were friendly, the atmosphere was relaxed, and there was an almost quaint quality to the town. Harry could almost see himself in a place like this.

When the bill was presented, Harry made a move to take it, but Dean was quicker. "I've got it," he said leaving no room for argument. "I invited you, after all."

"Thanks," Harry replied.

They stepped out into the street, and Harry assumed that Dean wouldn't want to walk to the store. Instead, Dean moved along toward the end of the block. Dean's pace was quite slow, and it was difficult for Harry to keep from forging on ahead. Harry wasn't sorry to be walking. Aside from the novelty of walking about without being hunted by reporters, it was a nice day. Though it was still a little gray out, it was warmer than it had been the day before. Harry breathed in deeply as they walked. The scent of the ocean was a bit stronger than it was at Dean's as there was no pine in the air to mask it.

Dean grinned. "That is one of the nicer things about this town."

Harry nodded. "How long have you lived here?"

"A little over seven years," Dean replied. "I lived in New York before that, and when Ethan told me what he wanted to do with the land that he owned here, I wasn't exactly enthusiastic about the move. Now, though, I don't think I could picture myself anywhere else."

"I don't think I've ever said that about anywhere," Harry admitted. "Maybe Hogwarts when I was in first or second year."

"It was all a bit much to take, wasn't it?" Dean asked quietly.

"To put it lightly."

Dean sighed. "Somehow we always end up having such dark conversations." Dean shook his head and smiled. "You know what I was thinking about yesterday before you arrived? Do you remember when you flew after Neville's Remembrall?"

"I do," Harry confirmed with a slight smile. "I thought I'd be expelled that day."

The two reminisced as they walked the rest of the way to the store. Harry found himself laughing a great deal more than he had in quite some time. The feeling of ease between them was almost foreign—foreign but not unwelcome in the least. It was somewhere along Main Street when Harry began to notice something about his host. He realized that Dean had the most animated brown eyes Harry had ever seen. As he spoke about their school years his eyes would light up with a warmth that made its way into Harry's. Unexpectedly, Harry found himself fighting the urge to kiss Dean. Hiding his discomfort, Harry tried his best to put the thought aside.

Harry was not bothered in the least by his desire to kiss another man. It wasn't like it would be the first time. Before he'd married, Harry had experimented a bit. In a way he'd always known that he was bisexual, but it had taken a few nights secretly frequenting gay Muggle nightclubs to confirm it. Then again, it hadn't really mattered then. He'd known he would marry Ginny after she graduated. It had simply been a fact. In his mind, any inclination he felt towards men would be something he kept to himself. But what now? He wasn't with Ginny anymore. That didn't give him the right to ogle his host and friend.

"Are you all right, Harry?" Dean asked.

Harry blinked. He had been so caught up in his own mind that he hadn't realized they had stopped. He felt heat rising to his cheeks. "Just lost in thought, I guess," he admitted as he stepped inside the building.

The two men returned with several bags, and Dean had offered to make dinner—nothing spicy—for both of them. Harry was still in a haze as he helped Dean carry their purchases to the kitchen. In truth, he hadn't heard more than a word or two as they strolled through the aisles of the grocery store, and he couldn't quite recall what all Dean had piled into the cart. It seemed that the more he tried not to think inappropriate thoughts about Dean, the more he did think inappropriate thoughts about Dean. After helping Dean unpack the bags, Harry decided it was best to put a bit of space between them. He collected the few things he had bought and excused himself.

Once he was safely away from his host, Harry found that his thoughts didn't seem to stray too far from Dean. His eyes kept drifting to the main house even as he struggled to keep them on the page of a novel he had brought. How was it that the raging hormones of a teenage boy hadn't drawn him to Dean sooner? In all the time he'd known Dean, he'd never mentally stripped the man naked, but now it was all he could do to remind himself that Dean was in fact wearing clothes. It didn't take long before Harry gave up on his book and got in the shower for a long soak and a good wank.

Having Harry in the guest house was not a good idea, Dean soon realized. Harry Potter was too much of a distraction. Two years of celibacy hadn't been all that difficult to maintain until Harry came into his life for two bloody days. As Dean cleaned himself off, he let out an aggravated groan. This wasn't the first time he'd jerked off while thinking of Harry. In school, Dean had been something of a master at stealing glances at the green-eyed boy while he was changing. He could still remember how delectable Harry's slender body had been, and from the looks of things his physique had only improved with age. Dean could imagine Harry's strong arms around him. Shaking away the images, Dean pulled himself up. He had to stop this. Harry was straight. And even if he was gay, it wasn't like he would be interested in Dean.

Dean had come to terms with his MS. He didn't have it bad at all, and he knew it. For the most part, his limitations were more annoyances than actual disabilities. Dean was able to live independently and there was very little that he found he was unable to do. Still Dean was well aware what most people saw when they saw him. He wasn't the type of man most other gay men (or even straight women) pictured themselves with. In his darker moments, he wondered what Evan would think if he could see him now. Evan had known that Dean had MS when they met—it wasn't a secret—but back then Dean hadn't really suffered many of the worst symptoms yet.

_ Thinking like this won't get me anywhere,_ Dean thought firmly. _It won't change anything._

Dean's mood lightened considerably as he moved about his kitchen. Cooking was one of Dean's favorite things to do, but it was something he didn't do too often. He saw little point in making an elaborate meal for one. Harry's stay gave him a reason to really pull out the stops and not feel so lonely. Dinner would be grilled chicken and caramelized leeks over penne with vodka sauce and roasted red peppers. Dean even made a peanut butter cup pie—a recipe of his sister-in-law Erika's that he been dying to try. As he cooked, Dean couldn't help but smile. The image of Evan leaning on the counter watching him cook was burned into his mind, and there were times that he swore Evan was standing there still.

Harry returned just as Dean was finishing the chicken. He breathed deeply as he crossed the room. "Smells great," he said contentedly. "Anything I can do?"

"You can set the table, if you like. There isn't much left to do really," Dean told him honestly.

"I was never a great cook. I just hope I don't get too spoiled before I go home," Harry commented as he took the plates that Dean handed him.

Dean couldn't stop the pang of hurt that came as he thought of Harry leaving. He looked away. "You shouldn't say things like that until you actually taste my cooking," he joked.

When the meal was on the table however, even Dean was impressed by what he had managed to make. Harry ate thirds of nearly everything, and by the time the pie was being cut, he let out an overly full moan. Dean couldn't stop himself from laughing a little as he watched Harry's eyes widen at the chocolatey, peanut buttery confection before him. How Harry managed to eat as much as he had was a mystery. "I won't be offended if you don't want it," Dean assured him through his mirth.

Harry shook his head and put a heaping forkful into his mouth. "This is absolutely delicious. I never knew you could cook like this."

"Wasn't exactly something I did much of at school," Dean acknowledged. "I didn't really cook a whole lot until I was living in New York. My mum was a great cook and I started to try to copy some of the things she made for me growing up. Before I knew it, I was buying cookbooks. These days, I swap recipes with Evan's mother and sisters pretty regularly."

"I did a lot of cooking at my relatives' home, and I think that's why I don't really like to do it. I mean, I am proficient at it, but not good." Harry pushed away his plate. "Sorry, I just can't eat another bite."

Dean smiled. "I knew you had to have a limit. It's all right."

"Yeah, everyone has their limits, I guess," Harry said cryptically. He was giving Dean a rather odd look—one he had been giving him all day.

Feeling a tad self conscious, Dean stood and began to clear away the dishes. He had made it a few steps from the table when he felt a rather familiar tinge starting in his knee. _Of all the rotten luck, _he thought bitterly as he reached out to grab hold of the counter. His hand slipped as his legs began to jerk beneath him. Dean closed his eyes and prepared himself for the eminent hard landing awaiting him. Instead, he found himself wrapped in strong arms. Opening his eyes, he stared up into emerald eyes.

"Are you all right?" Harry asked.

Dean fought the wave of overwhelming embarrassment coming over him. "Fine," he ground out. "Just a muscle spasm. Happens every now and again."

Harry helped Dean back into a seat, but didn't draw away completely. "Is there anything I can do?"

"No. It will pass on its own," Dean replied.

"I don't know how you manage."

Dean shrugged. "Not like I have much choice. You of all people should understand that."

That seemed to give Harry pause. "Guess you're right."

Once Dean's spasm had calmed, he reached for his crutch and began to stand back up. Harry still seemed reluctant to leave Dean's side. "I'm fine," Dean repeated, hoping that Harry would take the hint.

Suddenly, Harry's cheeks began to flush. "I...I just..." Harry's voice trailed off. Without warning, he closed the gap between them and pulled Dean into a passionate kiss.

Dean wasn't expecting it. For a moment, he was quite convinced that he had hit his head when he'd fallen and this was all a wonderful dream. It wasn't. Harry's lips were soft and warm and quite real. Dean parted opened his mouth and let Harry's tongue slide in. Then as quickly as it began, it was over. Harry pulled back.

"God, I'm so sorry. I shouldn't have," Harry murmured as he backed away. Leaving a confused Dean sitting in his kitchen, Harry made a hasty retreat.


	3. Chapter 3

Author's Note- First of all, please let me explain that I am not Lola. My pen name here is Amaria Anna. Due to health problems, she has given up on fanfiction for the time being and I have adopted both of her stories. Because of the amount of people who have this story and Say You Love Me set for alerts, I will post here simply to make the transition smoother. I am hoping to find my muse for Say You Love Me soon so hopefully and update will be coming soon. I have taken over her account (with her consent) so I will answer most PM's sent my way. Also, I am currently without a beta for either story. If you are interested in the job, contact me at either account. Thank you!

Part III

After his third day in Maine, Harry didn't know how much more rain he could stand. He did remember Dean saying that the weatherman had been calling for storms all week, and the thought made Harry almost wish he had looked a little more at the brochures with sandy beaches. As he stared out at the gray skies, he couldn't help but think that the weather wouldn't bother him nearly so much if he were sitting in Dean's kitchen instead of on the porch of the guest house.

Harry couldn't remember when he had last felt so utterly at ease with himself and his surroundings as he had in Dean's kitchen. Given the running theme in Harry's life, it was only natural that he would find a way to completely demolish anything good that had been building between them. The kiss had been such a colossal mistake that Harry knew he didn't stand a chance of putting things right. Still, he had to admit that given the chance to do it all over, he wasn't so sure that he could resist. There was something about Dean that just felt so right. The kiss had been so perfect and the feel of Dean in his arms was so intoxicating that Harry couldn't help but wish that it hadn't been the end. He found himself wishing that it had been the beginning.

With Ginny, things had felt like one thing slowly melted into another. Harry had found himself being thrown from one jarring event to the next, and somehow even when it was about him and Ginny, things had never been about him and Ginny. He did love her in his way, but Ginny had always been the light at the end of the tunnel. He never actually took time to imagine what that end would be like for them. Harry had always thought it would all come naturally. Voldemort would be gone and he could just be happy. Life would be simple and plain. But things didn't happen that way. At the age of nineteen, Harry became a husband who barely knew his young wife or how to go about a functional marriage. He tried to put the pieces together and build a good life, but his heart hadn't been in it. Ginny loved him so very much, and he started to hate himself in like measure. He wouldn't let that happen again.

Suddenly Harry was jarred from his thoughts by the sound Leo barking, and he found himself searching the yard for a glimpse of the dog's owner. He spotted Dean sitting on the back porch across the yard separating the guest house from the main house. More than anything, Harry wanted to close the gap between them, but he felt trapped. He wasn't quite sure that his host even wanted to see him right now. After what seemed like a torturous eternity, Dean met Harry's gaze and smiled.

"Regretting coming here?" Dean asked gesturing to the soggy sky.

"Not unless your dog is actually and unregistered animagus reporter," he quipped in reply.

Dean chuckled. "Fancy a cup of tea?"

"All right," Harry said feeling a weight lift from his shoulders.

Once again, Harry found himself settled on Dean's couch. He sipped his tea nervously and desperately tried to think of something to say. He wasn't sure how Dean had seemingly managed to have erased the kiss from his mind. Perhaps it was easier for him to gloss over the whole thing than to tell Harry that he didn't return his feelings. The thought that Dean didn't want him made the tea taste bitter in his mouth.

"Feeling all right, Harry?" Dean asked frowning.

"Yeah." How was this so hard? Harry was a grown man, not some lovestruck boy.

Dean looked away. "You know, I didn't put too much into last night. I know how pathetic I must have looked, and I appreciate your concern. Still, I don't need your pity."

Harry felt his stomach clench. "You thought I kissed you out of pity you?"

"I don't quite know why you kissed me, Harry," Dean admitted. His dark eyes bore into Harry.

"Why did you kiss me?"

"Because I wanted to."

Dean had spent a sleepless night picturing just how horridly wrong this conversation could go. He had convinced himself that Harry was merely trying to make him feel better. He knew his life looked a mess. Here Dean was all but isolated from the world—Muggle and wizarding alike—widowed and a crippled with a dog as his primary companion, and Harry always had been the kind to champion the underdog. In the end, Dean told himself that the best course of action was to pretend that it was all no big deal. It would hurt less that way. It was safer to close that part of himself off. He never imagined that Harry would find a way to cut deeper.

Swallowing hard, Dean forced himself to keep his gaze locked with Harry's. "Do you honestly think I'll believe that? Harry, I know you're not gay."

"You're right," Harry agreed sincerely, "but I'm not straight either. And why is so hard for you to believe that I want you? Dean, you can't tell me that you haven't been thinking of me, too."

"I can't," Dean admitted "But I still don't know what you want from me."

Harry smiled. "I dunno. A date maybe. A chance to get to know you better."

Dean took a long steady breath. He hadn't been on a date in eight years. Oh, he had toyed with the idea of dating—had even chatted with several men online hoping to one day make that move, but he'd kept convincing himself the time wasn't right. Would it ever be right? Even now, with Harry sitting right in front of him, Dean had to push aside the voices in his head that told him to run away. One date. He could manage one date. Despite Harry's assurances, Dean just couldn't imagine how there would be more than that. "All right," he agreed softly.

Harry's smile made him feel weak. It was the kind of smile that Dean had caught hints of back in school, but it had never been just for him before. It made Harry look younger and less careworn—like he should have been. Dean couldn't help but wish that Harry smiled like that more often.

"What did you have in mind?" Dean asked dragging his eyes away from Harry.

It didn't take much discussion for the two to form a relatively solid plan for that evening. Having never been to America, Harry was quite interested in seeing New York and Dean had to admit that there was far more to see and do in the city than there was in his little town. They would floo into a friend's home and then go for dinner at one of Dean's favorite restaurants. The idea had been mostly Dean's. He found himself struggling to find just a bit of control.

As he dressed for dinner that night, Dean found himself giving in to vanity a bit more than he usually did. He laid his two favorite shirts side by side and played with the collars of each as he tried to decide which to wear. The cut of the blue one suited him better but he had always thought that the red one looked better with his coloring. He had to chuckle at himself as the thought struck him that he sounded like a teenage girl. Without any farther debate, he picked up the red shirt and put it on. Thankfully he had shaved that morning and had gotten a haircut on the same day that Harry arrived so other than a quick shower he hadn't needed much fuss. He he caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror as he sprayed on a bit of cologne. Dean had to admit, he looked good.

Dean grabbed his crutch. He knew that they would be doing a good bit of walking, but he couldn't bring himself to use the folding wheelchair sitting beside his bed. No, tonight he was determined to not let anything dampen his confidence. He was sure he could push himself just enough to make it out for the evening. Dean knew that the next day he could be in agony, but for tonight he just couldn't bring himself to care.

Harry was waiting for him in the living room when Dean came out. "You look great," Harry said as he stood up.

"So do you," Dean replied truthfully. He couldn't remember ever seeing Harry dressed in a muggle suit, and he had to admit that the clothes looked wonderful on him. Harry was wearing a dark gray suit with a pale green shirt that made his eyes seem all the more beautiful.

"Ready to go?"

Dean nodded and gestured to the fire place. "Erika isn't going to be at home tonight, but I have a key to her apartment."

"Where are we going tonight?" Harry asked with just a hint of trepidation.

"I thought I could introduce you to my favorite place. Do you like Lebanese?"

"Never had it before. I don't eat much ethnic food," Harry confessed sheepishly.

Dean smiled. "Who knew that Harry Potter was a culinary coward?"

As the two stepped into the hearth, Dean took one last deep breath and left his nerves behind him.

They arrived at the restaurant a few minutes before their table was ready, and Dean lead Harry toward the elegantly appointed bar area. Dean chuckled as Harry pulled a chair out for him like some young gallant. "I would say that you've had almost a little dating experience as I have,"

Harry blushed adorably. "Probably less."

"Really? Well, I guess you only ever dated Cho and Ginny in school," he said thoughtfully.

"I don't know if you can count Cho," Harry murmured. As sudden look crossed his face, "You noticed who I dated in high school?"

Dean shrugged. "Everyone noticed everything you did in school, Harry, but I guess I did pay a little extra attention."

"You did?" Harry asked slyly.

Before Dean could answer, the bartender appeared to take their drink order. Dean recognized him from the many times he'd been here before, and the young man gave the pair a knowing smile. "Can I offer you gentlemen something special for the occasion?"

Harry's cheeks went from pink to scarlet. "I'll take a glass of the house pinot noir."

"A dirty martini," Dean ordered as he fought to keep himself from laughing.

Once the bartender had disappeared and they had their drinks in hand, Harry cleared his throat nervously. "So you were saying something about school..."

"I was hoping you had forgotten that," Dean said with a sign. "Yes, I did fancy you a bit in school."

"I wish I had known," Harry replied as the smile dropped from his face. "I was so focused back then on...you know, everything that I missed all of the things that I think so have meant something back then. I've been thinking a lot about that these days."

Dean suddenly had the urge to kiss that sad look off of Harry's face. Instead, he merely said, "I wish there was some way I could have helped back then. I think it was just easier for us all to pretend that nothing was really wrong until there were Death Eaters as the door. I'm sorry."

"Don't be. We were all just kids."

Harry took a sip of wine and looked away. "So I have been meaning to ask you; why America?"

"No one at home had any answers for me," he said with a shrug. "I went to any healer who would even give me an appointment, but none of them offered any hope. Then I read a paper by Healer Kerwin working out of New York, and I guess the rest just fell into place."

"Kerwin?" Harry asked.

Dean nodded. "Erika Kerwin. She is the Ethan's youngest sister. Actually, I met Ethan on my way to an appointment one afternoon."

"Were the healers here able to do anything for you that the ones at home couldn't?" Harry asked as he fingered his wine glass.

"A bit," Dean replied honestly. "Because it is so rare in wizards and the brain is such a delicate thing, it's hard for healers to get much research. In my case, Erika was able to slow the progression a bit, but then the next patient got no results from the same treatment. I'm afraid we aren't much better than the muggles as far as this is concerned."

A moment later, the host appeared and led the pair to a private little booth in the back corner. Lush velvet drapes hung around the sides giving them even more seclusion. The table was set as it was in the rest of the restaurant—a simple red rose in a slender vase and a candle glowing in the center. Funny, Dean mused, the place never seemed so utterly romantic when he was dining alone or with Erika. As Dean slid into the booth, he spared Harry a sly glance. Harry seemed to be taking in the seductive scenery as well, and when his eyes met Dean's, it was apparent that Harry's thoughts were already moving along.

"The food here is marvelous," Dean told him breathlessly. His mind's eye was already at work creating the image of Harry's bare form hovering above him.

Harry nodded vaguely. "Shall I order a bottle of wine for us?"

Dean bit his lip and forced his thoughts away from his arousal. "All right. Whatever you choose will be fine."

After they had ordered, Dean found himself staring quite intently at the flatware. Merlin's beard, this was harder than he had thought!

As though Harry were reading Dean's mind, he cleared his throat nervously. "I apologize. I've never had to make appropriate date conversation before," he explained. "I am not very interesting, I'm afraid."

Dean couldn't help it; he let out a hearty laugh. "You not interesting?"

"I mean besides all the Voldemort stuff," Harry said rolling his eyes.

"You honestly believe that is the most interesting thing about you?" Dean asked incredulously.

Harry blinked in surprise. "You mean you don't?"

"No. Course not. Never did think that was the best thing about you," he assured him. "You have this amazing way about you. I've never known anyone who could so naturally make people feel like they mattered, Harry. That and you have this sort of natural fearlessness—and not the mortal danger crap. I was scared shitless that first broom lesson, you know. I think all us muggleborns were, but you didn't have anymore time to get used to the idea than we did and just took it on like it was something you'd done forever."

"I really don't know what to say," Harry mumbled. His cheeks were an endearing shade of scarlet.

With new resolve, Dean decided that there would be no more talk of the past. This date was about grown men, not school boys. And besides, he already knew the boy Harry had been, now he wanted to know the man he had become.

"So what exactly do you do at the ministry? Neville said something about you not being an auror anymore," Dean inquired boldly.

"Oh? Yes, I left that office a few months ago. It seemed to me that while were getting damn good at hunting down dark wizards and punishing them, we weren't doing a very good job of stopping people from crossing that line," Harry told him with a determined gleam in his eye. "I want to educate people not on just how to defend themselves or to combat dark forces, but how to recognize and understand why we must not let these things happen to begin with. Its all about knowledge. Malfoy actually was a big part of inspiring all this actually."

"Malfoy? Don't tell me it was his idea!"

"Wasn't," Harry confirmed with a chuckle. "I saw him coming out of McGonagall's office when I dropped by for tea. He was griping about how people just assumed his son would be a dark wizard in training, but wouldn't recognize the real signs of some one truly going dark if they bit them on the arse."

Dean cocked his head and mulled it over a bit. "So you honestly think if someone had given Malfoy the real benefit of the doubt, that things would have been different? Or that you can stop dark wizards from going down that road?"

"I don't know about Malfoy for certain, but I think it is definitely something that we have to explore. Tolerance and prevention are things that we need to promote throughout the magical world, not just Hogwarts," Harry said firmly.

"The magical civil rights movement, eh? I like it."

Harry smiled. "And what about you? I know you work from home, but I don't think you've ever said what you actually do for a living."

Dean chuckled. "Nothing as important as your work, I assure you. I'm an comicbook artist. I've been at it for about six years now."

"Comicbooks?" Harry cocked a raven brow. "I can picture that actually. I remember being envious of your drawings at school. You were quite good even then."

"Thank you. It started out as just a hobby. When I was a boy, I used to love comics. Superman, Batman, Spider-man, Daredevil, Green Lantern...you name it collected it. Got out of it mostly when I was at school, but then after well...everything. I came home, and I just wanted a bit of the life I had as a kid. No real magic, just a bit of wonder. Next thing you knew I was dusting off my old things and adding new books to my collection. I didn't actually get serious about drawing comics until Ethan and I moved to Bailston. And I guess that is that," Dean said with a shrug.

"I'd love to see your work," Harry told sincerely.

"I'll show it to you back at the house."

Dinner came and the pair fell into an easy conversation about what all Harry wanted to do while he was on vacation. They made plans to visit all over New England. Dean wanted to show all of the things that he had come to love about his adopted home, and Harry seemed to be just as enthusiastic about seeing it all. It was such an amazing feeling to actually plan things with someone, to have something to look forward to more than just an average day. It had been so long since Dean had wanted to be out in the world. If he were honest with himself, he would admit that he was excited to be with Harry doing just about anything really.

After a wonderful meal, Dean and Harry took a cab to a little out of the way jazz club. The wine had made Dean a little dunk, and he found himself a bit unsteady on his feet—well, more unsteady that usual even. As they exited the cab, Harry's arm wound around his waist. Dean almost opened his mouth to tell Harry that he didn't need the help, but then he realized that he wanted Harry's arm around him. He wanted to feel Harry's strong body up against his. Dean breathed in the decadently masculine scent that was uniquely Harry.

"You don't mind?" Harry asked huskily as he leaned close to Dean's ear. The feel of his breath almost was enough to make Dean shiver.

"Not at all."

A split second later, Harry's lips descended upon his passionately. His tongue teased Dean's playfully for a briefly before plunging in possessively. It was the kind of kiss that only happened in the movies or in Dean's dreams, but this was very real.

"I've been wanting to do that all day," Harry admitted as he backed away.

Dean never wanted the night to end. He could barely remember the last time he had felt so perfectly and utterly romantic. The two of them had spent the rest of the evening cuddled up with another bottle of wine in a booth listening to the sultry, seductive tones of the singer and her band. Every so often, Harry would squeeze Dean's hand and give him a look that made his heart flutter with excitement and cock ache with longing. The alcohol in his veins made Dean a little bolder, and he found himself nuzzling the delicate skin behind Harry's ear. Despite his wishes to contrary, time flew and before Dean knew it, the bartender was giving last call.


End file.
